


Forlorn Hope

by Maplefoxxo



Category: Original Work
Genre: (I will add more tags. I don't want to spoil anything.), Backstory, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplefoxxo/pseuds/Maplefoxxo
Summary: Hope.
Kudos: 2





	Forlorn Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Forlorn Hope. I hope you enjoy reading this. 
> 
> (WARNINGS)  
> Blood, angst(?), death(?), etc.
> 
> Be careful.

**[2/1/XXXX]**

The sky was covered in a heavy blanket of grey clouds. The air was cold and merciless. Frostbitten grass clung to the ground, waving around their brownish yellow leaves. A variety of wild flowers were scattered across the area. They all varied in different hues.

But their coloration was dull. Their roots grasped desperately at the frozen soil. Their leaves were withered and cold. Yet, a bright and popping color was scattered among them. It was blood. Dark crimson splattered onto the nearby flora, painting the leaves and petals.

The thick substance gathered on the ground in a thick puddle. In the middle of the red mess laid a boy. The boy was slouched down and slowly collapsed with a dull thud. The flowers arched downwards, the blood dripping from their pale petals. His hazel eyes were clouded with pain as he gazed around.

He shifted slightly, flopping onto his side with a pained grunt. His clothing soaked up the blood, becoming a dark red. The boy huffed as he looked around, clearly trying to figure out where he was. The world around him was silent, other than the wind that sent the plants around him moving. His bloodied hands twitched and softly clenched into a fist.

_Where am I?_

Was the only thing he could think. He quickly remembered his name, amazed that he had forgotten it for a moment. Rowan. _My name is Rowan._ He thought, pressing his teeth together and softly grinding them together. He laid there, trying to recall what happened.

Rowan just noticed the gleaming blade in his own hand and gazed at it for a few moments. He didn't think any more about it and simply dropped it, watching it disappear in the bloodied grass. His whole body burnt with pain, but his throat felt as if it was torn out. Rowan raised a freckled hand to prod at his own neck. He didn't know that feeling this much pain was possible.

Every movement sent a wave of pain and agony climbing up his spine. He felt his bloodied fingertips press against his neck and then against the cut. Rowan knew how to tolerate pain, but this was over the top. But, then he remembered that he deserved this pain. He shouldn't be able to tolerate it. He should be miserable.

His vision was blurry as he gazed around. He remembered this place. His mother used to take him here when he was younger. When she used to love him. Now he was dying in that very same place.

Rowan felt warm blood pump past his fingers and drip down his arms and into the puddle below him. He forgot the exact details about what happened. Maybe just got into another fight, and now he is dying. Rowan wheezed, blood bubbling in his mouth slightly. It was hard to breathe.

This was his fault. It was his fault that he turned out this way. He knew he wasn't going to change. He knew very well he was going to stay as a mess of a person. Nothing could repair him. 

He could blame someone else for this, blame someone for making him this way… He had blamed other people for the longest time. But now he truly knew that it was his fault. It was stupid and childish of him to blame other people for his mistakes. Yet now he just wanted to run from them.

He wanted to run away from everything and everyone. He couldn't tolerate anything anymore. Every day was painful in more ways than one. He was just a stupid person that gave in to peer pressure. He just wanted validation, he wanted to feel something. Anything.

It was just so unbearable. But maybe if he dealt with it and give in… Maybe he wouldn't be in this situation. He threw it all away. He could've been somebody.

He was just a lost cause. Just a hollow shell of what he used to be. And it was all his fault. The world around him shook as his vision became blurry. This was it. He was going to die, all alone.

He was finally going to pay for being such a disappointment. Rowan knew very well his death would hardly hurt anyone. They'd be better off without him aways. Rowan felt his eyes slowly close as he sank his stiff body into the bloody ground. He was so pathetic.

Even though he knew he was a goner. Even though he knew he didn't deserve it… He let out a frail and hoarse cry for help. Yet, maybe he was just telling the world that he finally was leaving this putrid place. Rowan closed his eyes, letting the darkness engulf him.

But he just couldn't help but just wait. Wait for a response. Maybe he just hoped to have someone care about him. But he didn't deserve it. Rowan felt the last droplets of hope slip away from his grasp.

He grew quiet, listening to the sounds of nature. No words could describe what he was feeling right now. His hand was now soaked with blood from trying to press on the wound. With a soft exhale he let his hand fall. All he could smell was blood.

Then he heard a soft voice. Then some rustling. Then that same soft voice, but panicked. Rowan couldn't make out the words though. He assumed it was his mind playing tricks on him. It didn't matter anyways.

So soft, so full of care and concern. Such a contrast to rough and violent voices full of malice and hatred he's heard for years. Everything was dark when he closed his eyes. He waited for the voice to disappear like every kind voice usually did. For them to give up.

But it remained where it was. The voice gradually became more and more full with fear. He waited for the voice to turn sour, to feel a rough prod or maybe a blade slicing his already cut throat. But then he felt something pressing up against his neck, firm yet soft. Rowan let out a low grunt, almost like he was asking whoever this was to leave.

To let him suffer. To let him pay for his sins. Yet they remained, still pleading for him to do something. He could hardly feel anything, and his consciousness was slipping away from his fingertips. Fuck whoever was trying to talk to him, he deserved this.

Nothing could change who he was now. He was going to die. He'll be forgotten with ease. Maybe in a few years his parents would not even remember the mess of a child they had. Maybe all of the people he hurt would finally be able to forget.

The voice seemed to disappear and was replaced by a gradually growing ring in his ears. He sank into the ground, hardly feeling any pain now. This was it, he was finally getting what he deserved. He ignored the world around him and waited for death to claim him. He was ready.

_And then he let go._


End file.
